La Dolce Vita
by The Jack of Spades
Summary: AU with an old west flavor. The tale of the downfall of corruption in one of the largest cities in Spira, and of a heated attraction between a mysterious drifter and a lonely woman who wishes to forget the past. A⁄L, T⁄Y⁄S, in progress
1. One

Legalities: Square-Enix owns every person, place, name, and thing from FFX. I own anything original. And while I'm on the subject of owning, Auron owns you, me, and the guy next door. 

A/N - Short and sweet, because long author's notes are sinspawn ;) 

A lot of work went into the setting - this isn't just the cast of FFX in some random old west setting. I tried to preserve most of the culture of the game while giving it a different flavor. So feedback on it is a good thing :) Also, since this is an AU, expect the unexpected in terms of the original locations/relations of the characters (i.e. Rikku isn't Yuna's cousin in this), and the little things, like Tidus' hair, which isn't blond in this because hair dye wasn't around back then. Rating is tentative; it's going to go up to R, maybe as soon as the next chapter. And if anyone saw the movie "Tombstone," there's quite a few references to that in here. 

Now here's the part where I say sit back and enjoy. So please do! 

One

Spira, circa the late 1800s: a rough-and-tumble age where things were progressing at an dizzying pace. Times were changing and people were coming and going. Cultures were dying and becoming myth and memory. 

So it was for the Al Bhed, a race now scattered, lost in a shadow of its former prestige. It was they who brought machina into the world over the course of many centuries. While their hard work was initially seen as bringing change and convenience to Spira, the world's dominant religion, that of the teachings of Yevon, feared a loss of power and influence over the people. Its leaders, wealthy, controlling, and unwilling to surrender to the changing times, viciously turned on the inventions and their makers and labeled them as heretics. The Al Bhed now survived only by means of dealings under the table with less ethical individuals, and by disguising their giveaway eyes. 

The major cities of Spira followed the teachings of Yevon blindly. In each there was a Maester, the leader of the town and the head lawmaker. His title had been passed on to him from his father, and he in turn would pass it to his eldest son, in accordance with a tradition that had its roots hidden in the mists of legend. 

While the Maesters watched over the cities, the duties of a religious sort fell on the summoners, the aeon conjurers and senders of the dead. They worked in close conjunction with the Maesters and oftentimes side by side with town doctors, the majority of them being practitioners of white magic. Very few Maesters were summoners themselves, and they carried the heaviest of burdens in their given cities. 

But beneath this great establishment were the seeds of rebellion. Outlaws run out of Yevonite cities in the far east beyond Bevelle had banned together out west, forming a loose sort of organized crime. They traveled nomadically, making their living in deeds of an underhanded sort, though they proved to be capable of decent trade if the mood struck them. They had bought off many of those in positions of power to the point where the trade in some towns was almost completely reliant on them. They went by no name and had no hierarchy of which to speak, and were recognized only by the black sashes they wore. 

They had one common calling however, something general that had been given to them by the people they victimized. 

"It's really a sin"---or so it was said whenever they came up in conversation. This was repeated so often throughout Spira that the wandering gangsters were soon branded with a title at long last: the Sin, the Pirates on Foot. 

There are many tales of the Sin, and of Spira in those days, of dashing chocobo riders, Al Bhed uprisings, and the making of history by the many Maesters. Among the many one such stands out, for good reason: that of the end of the Walking Pirates, a victory that wasn't achieved without sacrifice and great loss. The origins of their demise lay in the romance of a singer, a performer at a theater in one of the fastest growing cities in Spira, and a drifter in hiding, who came into her life on the wings of a promise. 

What follows is their story.

Opening: Tribulations in Zanarkand

The sky: a sapphire caught in a sunbeam, blue and blinding. 

The city: a dusty contrast to the clarity overhead, of dirt roads, rows of buildings with sprawling porches, stirring chocobos, and irate citizens. 

Irate, because a most unwanted notice was being nailed up at the front the dwelling of the relatively new Maester of Zanarkand. The wielder of the hammer was one Wen Kinock, town marshal and one of six assembled guardians to the Maester and his young wife. 

It was the decree of the priests of Yevon in Bevelle that all summoners in positions of power have at their sides in public men-at-arms for defense. It was hardly necessary, but it was put into place due to an incident that happened ten years ago, in which Zanarkand's last Maester, another summoner, had been kidnapped along with many town officials and found dead months later in a location miles out of town. The people of Zanarkand demanded protection for their leaders, and devoted as they were to Yevon Bevelle answered their cries immediately. 

But the new law that Maester Seymour Guado had passed today was a slap in the face of that faraway city. The tall summoner stood unaffected by the shouts of the angered throng before him, his face a perfect mask, his thick Guado mane nearly completely unruffled by the hot breeze. _It's **necessary**, you idiots. It's for your own good._

At his side stood the willowy figure of his wife and fellow summoner, Yuna, daughter of the aforementioned slain Maester. Though much shorter than her husband, she stood as a formidable paragon of silence that stifling afternoon, holding a ruffle-trimmed parasol over her head. Fanned out behind her were the other five guardians, one of them a Ronso with a broken horn, clad in exotic attire. 

Kinock was hammering away at the last nail to the parchment when Seymour finally had enough of the protests. He stepped forward and held up his hands in an attempt to quiet the gathering. "Calm down, all of you! Calm down and listen!" 

One by one the cries and murmurings of discontent faded away. Someone in the far back coughed and a chocobo squawked, but all else was still for the moment. 

Seymour began his speech. "This law is for your own good. Putting guns in your hands gives you the power to defend yourselves against the Sin---" 

He was cut off by a voice from the crowd---"Defyin' Bevelle ain't no defense!"---which spawned a few more in agreement: 

"Bevelle is our defense against the Sin!" 

"Guns are forbidden machina!" 

Seymour's impatient sigh was lost amid the turbulence. He spoke again. "Tell me, what defense has Bevelle provided the lot of you? My concern is not so much the adherence to Yevon's teachings as it is to the survival of this town---" 

A gentle hand alighted on his arm. Seymour saw the lady Yuna step up, at first to his side, then on ahead of him, her eyes fixed on her people. She tilted her parasol back against her right shoulder, revealing a pale face and bright eyes, one green, the other blue. "We have to do what's necessary," she began. Her voice couldn't match Seymour's for strength, but her gentleness and determination often swayed the men and women of Zanarkand. "I'm as devoted to Yevon and Bevelle as you are, but the Maester is right. The Sin have been starting up too much trouble here lately and the weapon searches at the city gates aren't working! You've seen it for yourselves a few days ago, and that wasn't the first time that happened! They always manage to sneak something in. What we're hoping is that this law shows the Sin that we're not afraid to bend the teachings a little, and that we're just as concerned about our survival as we are our religion." 

Kinock had finished nailing up the notice and turned around, right in time to hear the strains of protests against Yuna's flow. _They're less angry,_ he noted with a touch of amusement. _It's always like that when she's doing the talking. Yevon, you oughta start letting her deliver the speeches, Seymour._

Yuna addressed the complaints against Seymour's idea with composure that was enviable. "Yes, swords and spears are more ethical, but so far they haven't been doing a very good job. The only language the pirates seem to understand is brute force." 

"Ain't true! The ones I've dealt with are decent folk. They do their share of business!" An older woman in the middle of the crowd spoke up. "They do dealings with weapons! Just yesterday they traded my husband near worth five hundred gil of spears and rapiers from as far west as Besaid! Wouldn'a got his hands on those if it weren't for the Sin!" 

"And they also rape our women and rob our businesses and disturb the peace, don't forget," Seymour cut in icily. "I have more complaints of barroom brawls than I care to sift through on a day like this, and Judge Maechen has been sitting in overtime to deal with all arrests." _Particularly the trials for murder. And most of the court officials here have rather heavy pockets because of the Sin._ His expression soured at that thought. 

"And the Sin aren't our only means of trade," Yuna added. "Bevelle, for one---" 

"Bevelle nuthin', if you keep breakin' the laws with all this machina! I heard a railroad'll be runnin' through this city in a few years. You're turnin' Bevelle against us!" A very upset man at the fore of the gathering hurled those remarks close to a mute and anxious Lady Yuna. 

Yuna threw Seymour a warning glance over her shoulder. The crowd broke out into an indecipherable buzz of chatter once more. Instinctively the guardians came forward beside their protectees, swords and spears pointed at the gathering. Several disgusted people began to leave. 

Kinock drew his scimitar and turned to the Maester. "You want us to quiet 'em, sir?" 

Seymour shook his head. "No. There is no need. This mess is over." He sidled up to Yuna and addressed the people of Zanarkand for a final time. "There is no need to stand around here and complain. This law is effective immediately. You'll thank me for this, ladies and gentlemen. You'll thank me when your streets are safer, when you have the power to keep them so." He turned then and walked away, frustration and disgust at the fore of his thoughts. Yuna gave the mob one last look, soundlessly pleading for them to be reasonable, before giving up and following suite. 

A few paces away, Seymour had stopped to wait for her. When she was at his side, the two walked together. 

Their guardians were assembled around them in a fashion of two before and behind and one on either side. This time there was only one man in front, since Kinock had remained behind to take care of the stragglers at the Maester's porch. The guardians stood far apart enough to allow the Lord and Lady as much space as was proper. Every outing was like a major procession. Yuna was immune to it, but to Seymour it was yet another perk of his lofty position, which he had won through years of excessive toil and---truth be told---some luck as well. 

The Maester's thoughts returned to his people and he frowned. "So thickheaded," he fumed. "To the point of being bloody stupid," he added afterward, lowering his voice a few notches. "How could they be so blindly devoted to this religion to the point of losing all sense?" 

Yuna didn't answer right away. "It's all they know," she stated after a time. "We all were raised on Yevon's teachings. Spira's changing so fast these days; it's all the people can do to cling to what they feel they know well. It comforts them." 

Seymour snorted. "Even if it degrades this very city, to see it be pirated day in and day out? We have a reputation to uphold. We'll be as big as Bevelle in a few years, if we can last long enough. It's no secret how many wallets the Sin fattens; that gives me enough trouble. If it means a minor infraction on the teachings to secure the future of this town, then so be it. My first concern is Zanarkand. It's just a pity that I must stoop to spoon feeding reason to its people." 

There was quiet for a long time between the two. Suddenly Seymour turned and offered Yuna his hand. A sliver of a grin graced his face then, and for once he looked less stiff, warmer. She took it albeit her fraction of a pause, as something was eating away at the back of her mind. 

_Your first concern is Zanarkand the city...but my first concern is its people._ It was where the Maester and his wife failed to see eye to eye. Seymour was such a radical leader; Yuna's father Braska had played by the rules for the most part and despite the Sin the people were happy under his leadership. _My father didn't try to revolutionize their way of thinking. He fought the Sin in his own small way, I was told._

Seymour's grip was big and almost cold, but not at all unpleasant. Yuna's thoughts roamed while the pair headed crossed Main Street, broken only when Seymour asked her, "Would you care to accompany me for a little drink? You look a bit flushed." 

She acquiesced. "I think I could do with a little something. I just need to get out of this awful sun." 

The pair headed for Zanarkand's Three Trade Foxes, one of the city's smaller establishments, but one that held quite a few memories, especially for Seymour. Most of the old days had been spent there, when he'd visit Zanarkand from his native Guadosalam as a summoner in training. Aside from Marshal Kinock, most of the boys from those days were long gone, perished, victims of the Sin along with the late Maester Braska. Still, because of its relatively quiet atmosphere---especially when compared to other pubs---it served as a nice spot to relax and temporarily shrug off troubles. 

Back at the Maester's porch, Kinock had cleared away the crowds. He sheathed his scimitar and gazed off into the distance, where he saw the Lord and Lady of Zanarkand heading for the Three Trade Foxes. _Off for a drink after work, are you? Hey, maybe Lulu'll show up there again... Oh, but hell, she's for the evening, ain't she?_

Nevertheless the marshal had his duties as the summoners' guardian to uphold, so he had to follow. He took off after the two, clinging to a small scrap of hope that the woman, foreigner from Besaid and a local entertainer, would make an appearance. 

The Drifter

It was near one o'clock that afternoon when a dead man came within the outskirts of Zanarkand, mounted atop a stolen black chocobo and armed to his teeth: shotgun at either hip, his belt a leather display of dagger hilts and the hilt of one massive sword. 

Dead man he was, to many. He had been among the officials under Maester Braska many years ago, a deputy marshal, and had disappeared with him ten years ago. The only difference between the legendary Sir Auron and the others was simple and straightforward: his body had never been found. It couldn't possibly have been, as it managed to survive even when his spirit had been broken. Indeed, he was very much alive when he had barely any desire to be so. 

Once a great and glorified personage, a man many had looked up to, he had been whittled down by time and events to a mere wanderer. He survived by means that had once been below his lofty stature---pick pocketing, chocobo stealing, and the like. He had spent part of the past decade in hiding, avoiding the pirates' eye, but he owed the majority of his absence to other things. Eventually, after near death and through the pain and reality of his situation, he persisted, driven from one day to the next by the fuel of a promise to the man who had spared him. 

In short, he had made his way to Zanarkand now because he felt he had to. There was no way that his creditor could check to see if he was living up to his word; it was sheer principle. 

_"I got a son back in Zanarkand. ... Yeah, you were from there, weren'tcha? Kid's a real crybaby. I had a mind to make him into a man someday, but I never had the chance.... _

"I'll let you out of here on that condition. Do for me what I can't do now. Make a man outta that little son of a bitch." 

And so Auron would, if he could find the boy, who fell under the vague description of being brown-haired and blue-eyed and who answered to the name Tidus. There came an address with the name---thirteenth house on Fourth Street---but considering that it had taken Auron so long to get himself together and reach Zanarkand, any guarantees he had of the situation remaining unchanged had logically flown the coop. He doubted he would ever find this Tidus, but it was all he could do. He was bound by his word. 

He was coming upon the city gates now. His good eye---the left one, as the right had been scarred shut---skimmed the horizon, where the cityscape of Zanarkand was beginning to appear. Against the backdrop of parched earth and distant mountains he must have stood out more plainly than was his liking, a situation that wasn't helped by the contrast of his clothing: long black coat, black trousers, white shirt. His eyes were inscrutable, hidden by shadow cast by a black hat and silver-rimmed glasses that were normally an Al Bhed disguise. In Auron's case, they were there to hide the bad eye and long scar of which he was inwardly self-conscious. 

His stolen chocobo was now treading Zanarkand's outskirts. There was a small group of children playing a game a little ways off to his left; they stopped in the midst of it to gawk at him as he passed. Often Auron's intensity drew the eyes of passersby, and over the opposite sex it could near cast a spell. 

When last he had been in Zanarkand, guns were among the machina that Bevelle had forbid. Thus Auron pulled his coat over his holstered pistols. If he were lucky, he'd be walking into the shift of a very lazy weapon searcher now, who would be too weary from the heat to inquire about any hidden firearms. 

Ever closer he drew, and as he did he noticed that something was amiss. _There's no one there?_

He squinted. No, there was no sign of anyone waiting there, and no stockpile of weapons in a box, to be claimed via vague description when the owner left town. 

_Ha, fool that I am. I've been gone so long, everything that happened seems like a dream. So then, that means...Yuna? No, she couldn't be Maester. Bevelle would raise hell if that happened. The town wouldn't allow it, either. _

Yuna... Last I saw her she was half my size. She should be a right proper woman by now. 

It was hard to make head or tails of the situation without any information. Auron steered his chocobo further into the city, entering from the outskirts and onto one of Zanarkand's many side streets. According to the sign, his mount was kicking up the dust of Twelfth Street. 

He remembered it well, though he had been away for so long. Memory served him faithfully. _I follow this to its end, past two intersections, and I'm on Main Street. The Maester lives east from there, eighth house on that road._

But Auron couldn't call on the new Maester yet. It was better to be prepared of the city's changes before charging blindly forth to meet them. And to do so, he'd go to a place where he whiled away much of his leisure time when he was younger. 

Den of Memories

He couldn't get over all the gunslingers on the streets. Nevertheless, he made no issue out of it as he dismounted his chocobo and secured it outside, near a trough of water shared by several others. To his slight dismay, he noticed other black ones there. _Now here's some real change. Ten years ago, the Sin ignored this place._

He entered the Three Trade Foxes without the slightest break in his stride. As his good eye adjusted to the darkness of the building he removed his hat, the proper custom, revealing a very thick and dark mane streaked at the crown and temples with silver. In Auron's case, those silver hairs owed their existence to suffering in the extreme degree. 

The pub oozed tobacco smoke and patron chitchat. Auron took a moment to drink it all in. He eyed the mural on the eastern wall, a raunchy painting of a summoner-woman reaching for her aeon, a great crimson winged beast. Ten years of aging made it fuzzy, darker, but he could still make it out well in the dim lighting. He'd always thought of that as being too explicit for his tastes. A friend of his assured him long ago that art was a very liberal field. Auron had scoffed him. Although inside he found himself moved if he could get something deep out of a particular piece, he really didn't consider himself to be a patron of the arts. 

_Philistine,_ that friend of his had called him. 

_Who was that, now? Ah, that's right: Seymour, the last time I saw him. Wonder what he's up to now._

His hampered sight alighted on the pub's piano, sitting in the far right corner at the back of the room. It was unoccupied. He smiled at another memory. 

_We talked Kinock into playing De Chocobo Races on that once. We were pretty drunk then._

Kinock and Auron went as far back as their days in Bevelle, when the two were amongst the religious men-at-arms there, the warrior monks. One memory in particular was a thorn in his side---the story of their disenchantment with Yevon and subsequent departure. _Though that wasn't the only reason for my leaving._

He turned and made for the bar, close to his left. The current tender there gave him a queer look; his eyes flashed with recognition. Auron recognized him too: though his hair was very gray, a far cry from the black of his younger days, he still had the same somber look about the brow, a trait that spoke more than words ever could of his realist outlook. 

Yet there was no fuss made by either man. The bartender greeted Auron in the usual fashion. "Howdy, stranger. What can I get ya?" 

"Wouldn't mind a shot of gin." 

The bartender got to work right away. Auron took a seat before the bar and let his good eye wander again. There, sitting at a table near the center of the room and slightly off to the right, were a pack of Walking Pirates, their black sashes hanging unassumingly from their belts. The former deputy marshal grew tense instinctively. _I knew a few would be in here._ His eyes left them quickly, not wanting to draw attention to himself by staring, and took to skimming the rest of the patrons for any vaguely familiar faces. 

"Your shot, stranger." 

Auron turned around to see his shot glass set before him, now shining amber with the liquor. Automatically he dug through his pockets. "Let's see. Last I was here, it was three gil for a shot." He produced a five-gil piece from the pocket of his trousers and looked the bartender in the eye. "But that was a very long time ago." 

The bartender stared back, knitting his brows. "That was four years ago, actually. Business is booming nowadays, so I can charge one gil and still afford upkeep." When Auron offered him the five gil, he went to get change but was stopped. 

"Keep it," said Auron. 

The barkeep chuckled in mild surprise. "If you say so, stranger. Can't turn down a generous tipper." He put the money away, still talking. "You say you've been here before? I thought you looked familiar. Ain't seen many new faces around here for a while, save some new Sin recruits---" There he paused, throwing a glance around the room. "Best to keep that sort of thing quiet though. The Black Sashes' got far-reachin' ears, if you follow me, and I don't want no trouble here." He drew himself up taller. "Now then, I don't believe I caught your name." 

Auron downed the contents of the shot glass. _You probably won't believe me when you hear it,_ he thought, and turning he gave the pirates behind him a glance. Then he looked back and said, "It's Auron, former deputy marshal under Maester Braska." 

He'd been right on the money; the bartender looked shocked to the marrow of his bones. But the shock subsided quickly, a brief passing that left cynicism in its wake. "Yeah, sure you are. Awful disrespectful of you, stranger, tryin' to pass yourself off as him. If I remember right Sir Auron didn't have no scar runnin' down the side of his face..." He narrowed his eyes, all manner of friendliness melting away. 

But Auron wasn't the least bit affected by the man's change in demeanor. He chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, it _has_ been ten years. I feel so out of place, but I guess that's only natural. I'm supposed to be dead, aren't I, Milt?" 

Surprise returned to the face of the bartender, a man named Milton Spence. "Hey, you... How... Aw, I'll be damned." He squinted at Auron again, scrutinizing him. "Sir Auron? Was the scar that threw me off, that's what. Yevon, I can't believe I'm lookin' at you. You look like hell." 

"Well, when you travel around there, you tend to bring back souvenirs." He dove into his pockets again and placed another five gil beside his empty glass. "I'll have another." 

The bartender took the gil and glass mechanically. He was still trying to rationalize the return of a man who had aged more than seemed natural in all his years of absence. "I, I got to tell people about this. They aren't gonna believe it: Sir Auron's back in town..." He went and refilled the shot glass. 

At that Auron fixed the man with a very sharp look. "Don't. The less who know, the better. I'm trying to keep a low profile." 

"Ha, that's downright next to impossible here." 

"It might be, but I don't think I'll be easily recognized...." 

He trailed off there. The bartender's eyes were looking over his head now, at someone standing behind him. Before he could turn around to look, he heard a voice. 

"Well now, I can't believe my ears. Wouldn'a thought anything of you 'til I came over here and heard your voice. Yevon, it's hard to believe you're still alive..." 

Auron stiffened. Every inch of him expected a meeting between his flesh and the cold end of a shotgun, the stimulus for the reflex of a man who had spent many years looking over his shoulder. 

His right hand flew to his pistol. Man on the run that he had been, he'd fashioned himself into a fast draw almost effortlessly. He then whirled around, the pistol drawn, cocked and ready to fire. 


	2. Two

Two

Quite a Tale

"Hey, hey! Take it easy, it's just me! Yevon..." 

Auron lowered his pistol and studied the worn features of Wen Kinock, a man he hadn't seen in a decade. He was nothing like the former warrior monk of long ago, that much was clear. The long brown beard he once sported had been shaven clean off; his face was now as hairless as his head. Funniest thing, but his eyes were still the same, gray and sanguine, ever ready to fight for a cause or have a hearty laugh at someone else's expense. They hadn't aged a bit. 

Auron holstered his weapon presently. "Don't remember you being fond of sneaking up on me like that." He didn't mention a word of it, but he was still shaken inside, which explained the gruffness of his reply. 

Kinock was focused on Auron's appearance now. Just one look at his old friend told him that time hadn't treated the man very lightly. "Auron... Look at you. What _happened_?" His right arm twitched, meaning to point at something, but there was far more than just one difference to point at. He didn't know where to begin. 

Auron raised his eyebrows. "Where do you want me to start? It's quite a story." 

Kinock shook his head. "Ten years... It's still hard to believe, even when I'm lookin' right at you." 

"Believe it. Just don't make too much of a scene; I'd rather have no one know." 

Kinock's brows knitted. "Why's that?" 

"Consider the answer to be the story's foreword." Auron rose from the barstool, took his hat, and gave the bartender a curt nod in departure. "Where are you sitting?" 

Kinock pointed to a table on the opposite side of the pub, near the wall with the summoner mural. "All the way over there. Oh, and Auron, there's a few things I have to tell you---I'm not sitting there alone. A lot of things've happened while you weren't here..." 

"Tell me when we're seated." Auron urged his long-time companion to lead him to the aforementioned table. Along the way they bypassed the crowd of Black Sashes. Perhaps it was paranoia on Auron's part, but he thought he felt eyes on his back as he passed that seemingly benign group of men. He hoped he wouldn't be recognized. 

Just as Kinock reached the table, Auron abruptly stopped short of it. His gaze was fixed on a figure that had quite literally jumped out of his chair upon seeing him. The towering height, blue mane, and piercing eyes all spoke the same name. 

Seymour Guado. _Time has done a lot for you, hasn't it? You're dressed awfully tony for a summoner, old friend._

Kinock caught Auron's look and reminded him, "I told you I wasn't here alone." 

Auron didn't answer him. His eyes were still fixed on the half-Guado. "Seymour." 

The Maester of Zanarkand was at a loss for words, at least temporarily. When he finally spoke, he fumbled. "You... You? You!" His eyes were wide, but soon the shock cleared, making room for much doubt. "Wait a minute, maybe I'm wrong..." He started to sit down until Kinock spoke. 

"Trust me, sir. It's him." 

"If the gray in my hair is throwing you," Auron added, half-teasingly and half-patronizingly, "I can always put my hat on..." He made to do so then. 

Seymour shook his head, stopping him. _It's more than the hair,_ he thought. "I can hardly believe this. Well don't just stand there! Sit down, both of you! Sit!" He indicated the three empty chairs that were ringing the table. Kinock took the one on the side to Seymour's left and Auron took the one directly across from the half-Guado. 

The low lighting of the tavern glinted off a metallic object resting against the back of the fourth and unoccupied chair, to Seymour's right. Auron gazed at it through the corner of his eye: it was the handle of a closed parasol, the metallic point resting at an angle against the floor. The table obviously included feminine company. 

_And seated beside Seymour... He must be courting her. I wonder who she is?_

Seymour sighed, still surprised, looking as though he needed a good five minutes to recompose himself. Auron and Kinock sat there patiently. When Seymour resumed speaking, his tone was tinged with anger. "Ten years! Ten _wasted_ years, I might add. That's how long I went thinking you were dead." His eyes were locked on Auron accusingly. "You better have a good explanation for why we never saw hide or hair of you for so long." 

"He says it's quite a story," Kinock interjected. 

"And it is," said Auron. "It explains why I don't want to make a scene." He leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on the tabletop. Seymour and Kinock moved closer accordingly. "I've been avoiding the Sin all that time. You don't escape them alive without looking back over your shoulder every now and then." He paused and removed his glasses demonstratively. "No doubt you've noticed this scar. It's a mark of attempted resistance." 

"What about the glasses?" asked Seymour pointedly. "Those clearly say Al Bhed to me. Not everyone is fooled by them; I imagine someone must've thought you were..." 

Auron shook his head. "Not at all. They're just a detraction for the scar, nothing more." He placed them back on the bridge of his nose before continuing. "I came back here now because I've put off a return visit for too long." _Ten years is long enough, I dare say. Not that they need to know about the deal I made to escape the Sin. Not yet, anyway._ "That and the girl under my charge doesn't need me anymore." He sat back then, feeling a little more relaxed. When the reflex to look over his shoulder came up again, he mentally beat it down. 

Seymour and Kinock nearly asked the same question simultaneously. "Girl?" 

Auron nodded. "An Al Bhed orphan. She was five years old back then. I knew something happened to her when I found out she could speak our language. She told me her father was the same way, and that she was separated from him in a raid on her Home. She lost her brother, too. She really had nowhere else to turn. So I took her under my wing. Gave me something to do until I felt it was safe to return." 

Seymour was mildly surprised. "You and a five-year-old girl... Forgive me, but I can't quite see you being a father." 

Auron shrugged. "I do what I must." 

Kinock chuckled. "An Al Bhed girl... You know what they'd say back in Bevelle?" 

"Heathens," Seymour answered for him. "Not that I care about the Al Bhed, mind you; I've got worse things to deal with." 

Auron raised a brow at him, studying him suspiciously. "And what would that be?" _And is it something besides you becoming a summoner at last? If it took you all those years to pull that off, Seymour, you have my pity._ Though that wasn't quite all of Auron's suspicions. The rest involved the attire of the man, the effect of which had an air of importance, of hierarchy. He had noticed that right off the bat. **_High_** summoner, then? 

...Maester? No, not possibly. Not Seymour. 

"It has to do with the one thing I didn't get to tell you..." Kinock shot a sideways glance at the half-Guado on his right. "You wanna break the news yourself, or do you want me to do it?" 

Seymour glanced at Kinock, then fixed Auron with a very serious look. "Since you fell off the face of Spira for so long, I might as well give you the whole story. After Braska was found murdered, the surviving staff banded together and oversaw the city for several years. When Yuna turned sixteen---" 

"Yuna," Auron murmured, a whole rush of memories coming back to greet him. In his mind he had a vision of the seven-year-old girl he saw last, dark-haired, with one eye blue like her father's and the other green, the only noticeable sign of her mixed heritage. "How is she? Is she here with you?" _Is she the owner of that parasol? _

Is **she** the one you're courting? Yuna and Seymour... It struck Auron as inconceivable that such a match would happen. _They hardly knew each other back then._

Kinock shot Seymour a meaningful glance, then answered Auron, "'With' is an interesting choice of words..." 

Outwardly Auron was unruffled, but within his suspicions heightened. "Do clarify." 

Seymour turned on his guardian. "You really enjoy killing suspense, don't you? Auron, Yuna and I are married. It seemed like a good idea at the time---" 

"Hold on a minute." Auron stopped the Maester of Zanarkand mid-flow, his face a study in disbelief. "Don't tell me you're Maester." 

"Well as much as you obviously don't want to hear it, yes, I am the latest Maester of Zanarkand." 

Auron had considered it, yes, but that was different from having it confirmed. He was taken aback. _I knew they wouldn't let Yuna take her father's place. But still... Seymour? Apparently no one else was available._ It didn't anger him or upset him as much as it surprised him. Seymour had been a longtime friend of his; he presumed he could trust him to take care of Yuna well. It just seemed like such an odd coincidence that the girl he knew since she was a baby and the friend he'd known for over a decade would end up running Zanarkand together. When he finally spoke, it had been meant for interior monologue. "Who came up with that ridiculous idea?" 

Beside Auron, Kinock burst out laughing. It was the old days all over again, when the three of them used to needle each other relentlessly. In the familiar atmosphere Auron began to forget about the Sin seated some distance behind him and loosened up greatly. 

Seymour smirked, hardly amused. "You're a riot, Auron. You really are. Do you want me to finish the story or not? ...Would you stop laughing?" 

In the midst of his chuckling, Kinock managed to utter an apology. 

The explanation for Yuna and Seymour's marriage was a practical one, as Auron might have guessed. Seymour filled in his old friend. "The marriage arrangement was due to my background. Being half-Guado, it was thought that if Yuna and I were wed, it would do much to improve human-Guado relations. That and I was already a master of the summoner's craft. They wouldn't let Yuna run the city by herself. Her father's remaining subordinates insisted that she be married. I was their choice for her husband." A flash of pride shone in Seymour's eyes, but it quickly disappeared. _It didn't bring about as much happiness as I thought it would..._

"You don't seem too happy about that," Auron pointed out, catching Seymour's faltering expression. "I hope you're taking good care of her." 

"Of course I'm taking good care of her! She just has her moments where she tries my patience..." 

"Which must mean that she's still the same stubborn little thing I saw ten years ago," Auron remarked benignly. "Are you letting her fool you, Seymour? She's tougher than she looks." He paused there, his eye falling on the idle parasol to his left. "I take it then, that she's somewhere in here with you?" 

"She left for the ladies' room a few minutes ago. She should be back soon." 

And that was precisely when the young summoner emerged from the back of the tavern, prim and pretty but still as unassuming as she had always been. Perhaps the only thing that the years had done to her was to make her a bit more resilient and a lot more romantic. Her marriage with Seymour caused some strain on her part as well: she found it difficult to get through to her new husband when their opinions differed, and sometimes he could be so terribly cold. In her heart she entertained many thoughts of what it would be like to be free of her obligations. Such ideas accounted for her wandering gaze and the dreamy look in her eyes. Yuna was a bird locked in a cage of summoner's responsibilities, and privileges denied to those of her sex. 

Yet she wore the mask of happiness rather well, even if it was hauntingly shallow on her features. She weaved her way gracefully through the crowded tables. As she did so, two of her guardians---who had been waiting for her to emerge from the ladies room---trailed after her: Isaaru, another summoner, and Kimahri, the Ronso in exotic clothing, who was devoted to her even more so than he was to the Maester himself. 

When she reached the table of her husband, she immediately noticed the extra person seated there. But before she could ask who he was, the man rose from his seat politely. "Yuna," he began, in a voice that was startlingly familiar, only perhaps a bit deeper, "it seems all those years have done you many favors." A smile tugged at the man's lips. 

The Lady of Zanarkand gasped. Realization had hit her like a flash. "Oh... Sir Auron? Is that really you?" Her eyes ran up and down his six-foot figure. "I barely recognize you. It was your voice... What happened to you? Where have you _been_? I can't believe you're standing here...!" 

Auron chuckled good-naturedly at the barrage of questions. "You'll have to sit down, Lady Yuna; it's quite a tale." He paused and eyed her for a bit. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he started, a grin in his voice, "but you hardly seem taller than the last time I saw you." He drew himself up tall and stared down at her. Yuna had always been tiny; Auron used to tease her similarly when she was much younger. 

She caught on to his joke after a while, deadpan as it was. She started giggling, and so did the guardians around her. Her eyes were bright with mirth when she narrowed them and said, "Oh, not funny!" 

Auron's dark eyes darted up to the faces of the much taller men behind the lady summoner. "These must be your other guardians?" 

Yuna remembered her manners then and quickly composed herself. "I'm sorry. Sir Auron, this is Kimahri and Isaaru. Kimahri, Isaaru, I'm sure you've heard of Sir Auron..." She stepped aside so the three men could shake hands. 

That Auron did, with Kimahri first and then Isaaru. The Ronso was graciously quiet; his greeting was little more than an accepting grunt. His eyes seemed fierce, but with enough scrutiny they betrayed a rather gentle interior. Though it was probably impolite, Auron couldn't help noticing the broken horn that jutted from the massive guardian's forehead. Momentarily he wondered how it had gotten that way. 

Isaaru was considerably more vocal. His voice carried clearly over the din of the saloon. "I dare say, I think I'm shaking hands with a legend." He smiled there. "It is an honor to meet you, former deputy marshal of Lord Braska himself..." 

Auron would have nodded, save for the hairs on the back of his neck that were now on end. Instinctively his left eye wandered over to the table where the Sin were seated. There was noise from them now, shuffling. They were rising from their chairs. Auron watched them for as long as he could. It looked like they were leaving. 

When he turned back to Isaaru, he found a thousand questions in the man's eyes. That was when he leaned closer and whispered, "Never speak too loud. There is always someone listening in." 

He released the man's hand, then made to sit down again. Yuna took her seat at Seymour's right; the Maester called for more chairs for the guardians that joined them. With the great crowd of Black Sashes having now departed, the atmosphere of the Three Trade Foxes felt much lighter---not just to Auron, but to all the patrons therein. 

The talk amongst the table of six was very lively now, and began with the one thing Auron had noticed when he came into town. "Maester Seymour," he started, but was cut off. 

"Please, Auron, the title is unnecessary. At least in here." 

"As you wish, then. Seymour, it was quite a sight to see your watchmen missing at the city limits. And there are so many gunslingers on the walkabout. Just look around you. Have you gone soft all of a sudden? Bevelle would have a lot to say about this." _Not that I give a damn, but..._

"Oh, that's something that happened very recently," the Maester replied, sounding rather pleased with himself. "The town's in a bit of an uproar about it, but I'm glad to see that some people have the sense to take advantage of the new law. Under it, the people of Zanarkand are free to bear firearms." 

"It's so they can defend themselves against the Sin," Yuna added. "We felt the people were powerless against them using just swords and spears. The Sin were taking advantage of our weakness." 

Isaaru and Kinock spoke up then, talking of how the guardians were planning on purchasing weapons of such nature in the very near future. They had such high hopes of changing the face of Zanarkand for the better, Auron thought, _but fire can't be fought with fire. I can only imagine what will happen once Bevelle hears of this._

Fortuna, Clad in Black

"Do you have everything?" 

Lucil's words drifted into the ears of a graceful, raven-haired woman standing tall in the midst of a lavish living room, her eyes two garnet orbs rimmed with black makeup, her skin pale as moonlight. "I should think so," came the response, slightly absent in tone, as the responder was busy stuffing a few last-minute items into a velvet purse. "Hey, Elma! Hurry it up in there!" 

A tall, dark-haired woman peered out from the doorway to her room. "Give me a minute, will you?" She returned to the large mirror before her dresser, and set about readjusting the low neckline of her gown for the umpteenth time. 

Lucil, impatient, walked in to check on her. "El, if it gets any lower, the upper half of you won't be a secret to this town anymore." 

From the living room came the sounds of laughter. "I don't think it was a secret to begin with, Lu." 

Inside her bedroom, Elma's hazel eyes widened and she came back snappishly, "As if you're one to talk, Lulu!" 

Lulu, the dark-haired, pale woman, said nothing in reply. _Oh, it's still a secret to more than you make it sound, Elma dear._ _It had only been a few._ A few that were required on those nights when the shape of the moon would mock her memories with familiarity, or when her bed felt colder than usual. A few that had only served as temporary solutions. That suddenly, there was a jab of melancholy. Lulu got defensive. _I was lonely, damn it. It hasn't been the same since..._

Since _he_ had died, he the reckless one, he the avid gunslinger who insisted that swords weren't good enough---long before any law saying otherwise had been passed. He whom she loved more than anything, once. But she had told herself that there would be no more dwelling on it, so as soon as those thoughts had come she dismissed them stubbornly. 

Lucil and Elma finally emerged from their shared room, having decided on a suitable lowering of the latter's neckline, which was quite low indeed. "She's going to pop out of her dress that way," Lucil started hopelessly. 

Elma ignored her. "Come on!" She threw a glance at the grandfather clock standing grave and stately in a corner of the room. "We only have a few hours. It's already after three." At seven o'clock that evening the three women had to be at the Chocobo Cage Theater to prepare for yet another performance, which would begin at eight. The four hours in between would be spent relaxing in the company of their admirers, most of whom lingered in the dank environments of Zanarkand's saloons. 

The three of them gathered their remaining things and left the classy cottage they owned near the heart of Zanarkand. Outside they opened their parasols against the relentless sunshine of midday, almost as simultaneously as they would perform a dance routine. They paraded down off their porch and onto the dusty streets of the booming town, their elegant dresses trailing behind them in great swaths of silk and calico and lace. One was purple, one was wine red and black, and one was white and gold. 

A man crossed their path along the way, and as he did he turned to ogle at three unabashed displays of cleavage. Most men in Zanarkand didn't pay the women that kind of indiscreet attention on the streets, as they were often out and about like this. Lucil, Elma, and Lulu exchanged looks. _Stranger in town._

They turned onto Main Street from the side road they lived on. They were now passing a row of saloons; the louder establishments filled the air with much noise. At the humble Three Trade Foxes Elma came to a stop. "Hey, when's the last time we've been in here?" 

Lulu ran her eyes over the modest building. "Not in a while. Personally, I'd rather go someplace more lively." 

Lucil agreed with her. "And those Sin folks are in there a lot nowadays. And they're so demanding." 

"Riffraff," said Lulu contemptuously. 

Elma turned around and made a face. "Fine, then. Where would the two of you rather go?" The look on her face made no room for compromise; she was only stalling. 

Lucil glanced at Lulu before saying, "Well, I can't speak for Lu, but I'd rather go to the Bonfire, the one further up the street. You know, the place where they serve the drink you set fire to? The owner hasn't had any trouble for weeks now, so I've heard." 

"But we've been there so many times!" Elma whined. "Lulu, what about you?" 

"Well, I'd rather go anywhere but here..." 

Elma grew impatient. "Well all right then, girls. You go where you want to, but I'm going in here. You'll see me again at seven." With that, she turned and headed for the entrance of the saloon. She paused only to close her parasol and rest it against her right shoulder before marching inside defiantly. 

Lucil shook her head. "There she goes again." 

Lulu sighed. "We'll have to follow her, I suppose. Make sure she doesn't get too drunk." 

"Like last time," Lucil added. She made no effort to conceal her disappointment at having to enter the undesirable tavern, but she joined her black-haired friend as she made for the entrance. 

Lulu had seen no black chocobos outside, at least not in large groups, which would be a sure sign of the presence of the Walking Pirates. She had seen a lone one, however, and it made her very curious. _The Black Sashes never go it alone...and it's rare indeed to find a man who owns himself a black chocobo that **doesn't** deal with the Sin._ She looked it over. It appeared to be a fine animal, in good condition, its eyes clear and its plumage glossy. _The owner is quite the rancher, I assume. _

Either that or simply fortuitous. 

She dwelled no longer on the bird then and stepped into the saloon. Inside the sudden change from bright sunshine to darkness assaulted her eyes. As she gave them time to adjust, she was immediately engulfed in tobacco smoke. _Thicker than usual,_ she noted. _This place has been holding quite a few crowds as of late. And is that the Maester by the mural there?_

It had to be. Even as Lulu's eyes were still dazzled, she could make out Seymour Guado's distinctive blue hair. By the time her eyes were fully adjusted, she could discern the tiny form of the Maester's wife, Lady Yuna, over all the heads in the crowd. There were guardians too, seated all around the table. Lulu didn't know all of them by name, but their presence alone gave their purpose away. They always followed the Maester and his lady wherever they went. 

She squinted. One of the guardians, the one with his back facing her, had quite a bit of gray streaking his hair. _That's odd. Was there a guardian shortage that the Maester had to hire someone so aged?_

"Hey, I thought you were going to get your drinks ignited! Or were you frightened of leaving me to my own devices?" 

Lulu turned to find Elma giving her a rather haughty stare, perched on a stool by the bar. She walked over and took the empty seat beside her. "Of course we're frightened. Remember the last time we let you go off on your own?" 

Elma looked part confused, part tickled. "Not all of it, no..." 

"Exactly." Lulu smiled knowingly. Then she heard rustling off to her left. She turned; Lucil had taken the empty barstool beside her. 

"Well, I'm rather surprised," she remarked, her eyes skimming over all the heads before her. "Since when does the Maester stop in here?" 

"So I noticed. And I can't begin to answer you," Lulu responded. At her left, Elma had risen from her barstool to get a better look at the esteemed personage. 

"Hey, I didn't notice that! My, what an honor, being in the same saloon as him...!" 

Lucil snorted. "Ha, honor indeed. With the law he sanctioned earlier today, I'm surprised the people haven't had his head yet. Guns! It's like giving these people a right to kill." 

Lulu gave an absent "mmm" in reply. Suddenly she was steeped in memories again. **_He_** was a big lobbyer for guns once. Thought they would do this city favors. Turned out to be his death warrant. Her expression darkened. Her eyes were still on the Maester and his guardians; soon the lot of them had risen from their chairs. Her brows furrowed; she spoke to herself, "That old man's quite tall." 

Lucil and Elma didn't hear her, as they had become engaged in an argument. "We're no different from the Sin this way." 

"Yes we are! We're not using guns to bully people; we're using them in defense..." 

The Maester and his wife and the pack of guardians made for the saloon's exit. Lulu couldn't tear her eyes away from the tall, black-haired guardian with the silver in his mane. He was dressed almost as well as Maester Seymour, in a kingly black from shoulder to foot---and head now too, as he was in the process of donning his hat. The cuffs of his pants and his boots were dusty from the streets of the city. How long had he been a guardian? Lulu hadn't seen anyone like him before. He had the air of a man who was new in town. 

As a continued study would reveal, the man looked much younger than the gray in his hair would have a person believe. He was rather nice-looking, actually. Lulu continued to stare. 

"Swords do the same thing. The teachings allow swords. There's no need for guns." 

"Swords can't hold up against the Sin's guns, Lucil!" 

Perhaps it had been due to Lulu's intense staring, but before the tall guardian left he turned and gave the interior of the Three Trade Foxes one final look. Four days' growth of beard, scar down the right side of his face, square jaw, a strange pair of glasses low on his nose, eyes dark and sharp as a hawk's---all of that would have been filed dispassionately, had it not been for the stare in those hawk's eyes. It seemed to be the glitter of interest, or the shine of curiosity. He was focused on something that evidentially piqued his interest. 

"Forget it. I'm not speaking any more on this." 

"Fine then." A pause. "I still want to get one." 

"No, Elma! I told you, I don't want one of those horrid things in our house. Lulu, help me out here!" 

Disconcerted and annoyed, Lulu turned to find Lucil staring her forcefully in the eye. The spell was broken. "What? Help you with what?" She glanced hopelessly at the doorway for a final time, only to see the Ronso guardian stride out. The handsome guardian was gone. _Damn it._

"I keep trying to tell Elma that I won't have those lawbreaking guns in our house. We've all been raised to obey the teachings our whole lives. Maester Seymour's making a lot of unnecessary changes. This city's going to become as unruly as the Pirates themselves." 

Elma snapped back, "It's for the better! Sometimes things need to change. The way Zanarkand's been all this time, we need a new way of defending ourselves! I say we buy one. No doubt they'll be opening up some shops here soon enough." 

"Yes, you're right---shops run by those Al Bhed. They're the ones who make all that machina. They're the last thing this city needs." 

Lulu sidestepped the disagreement. She had no qualms about the Al Bhed in spite of the teachings, though she did have one or two things to say about the new gun law. Yet above all, her mind was cloudy with thoughts of the stranger she saw. _That would certainly be something new. Never tried a guardian before._ She raised her voice then, addressing both Elma and Lucil. "Girls---drinks? Have you decided?" 


End file.
